Broken
by HikaKiti
Summary: Broken. Broken. Broken.


_**A/N: **This is, by far, one of the, if not THE, darkest things I have ever written. I wrote it because... I have no idea. I just... opened a document and typed it all. It took three days._

_This is NOT for people with a weak stomach. Like I said - DARK. There IS NOT A HINT OF FLUFF. I'm sorry, I don't know where this came from, or why it was done. I kind of scared myself._

_Read on. _

**Broken**

Italy burst through the doors of Germany's house, not bothering to knock. He didn't shut the door behind him as he skipped past. It was a normal day, a normal month, a very normal year. "VE~ Germany!" the energetic brunette cheered as he bounded through the house in search of his best friend. "Gerrrrrrrmany~" he sang, bursting into the kitchen. The room was spotlessly clean ans shiny, as it was every other day.

Germany looked up from his breakfast, pulling the fork from his mouth. "Italy." he greeted. Italy grinned and bounced over to the chair beside him. Something smelled liked food.

"Buongiorno!" he giggled, leaning over to peek at Germany's plate. He pursed his lips in a pout. "Why do you never have any good food, Germany?"

Although this happened all the time and was practically a daily occurrence, Germany glared at him. "Zis is good food, Italy." he growled, neatly biting off a bit more of the sausages on his plate. Italy swung his legs childishly and waited, somewhat patiently, for the taller country to finish eating.

After Germany put away his plate in the dishwasher, Italy wrapped both arms around one of his. "Ve~ we can play now, si?" he asked, smiling.

"I have vork, Italy." Germany said, only halfheartedly.

"Waah~ Germany! Please? Please please please?" Italy tugged his arm with each plead, rubbing his cheek against Germany's sleeve.

The tall blonde sighed and pried the shorter man off of him. "Vhat do you vant to do?" he gave in, much to the other country's happiness.

"Lets go for a walk!" he said cheerfully. They started for the door, Germany following to keep his arm from being pulled out of its socket.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~. - ~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

They must have walked for about a mile when Italy got tired and climbed onto Germany's back for a piggy-back ride. Germany continued on down the winding stone path through the thick trees, admiring the way the sun was just gracing over the leaves. He hadn't had time to slick back his hair into its usual style, so blonde strands kept falling into his eyes. It was a companionable silence as they walked, Italy humming and Germany stepping in tune with his song without even noticing.

"Germany?"

"Vhat, Italy?" Germany sighed, stopping and pushing Italy higher on his back while readjusting his grip on his legs.

"Ve~Nothing. I just wanted to her you say my name!" Italy bounced on Germany's back, causing the man to grunt.

"Vhy?"

"Cause it makes me feel happy." Italy answered, honest as always, and nuzzled his baby-face into Germany's neck.

Germany flushed and sputtered, skin hot.

Exactly thirteen minutes later, rain began to pour out of the sky. The clouds had come quickly, and now that water was pelting Italy on the head he agreed that it would be more fun back at Germany's house. Germany didn't mind, seeing as the little Italian weighed a lot more than he seemed to.

"Ve... Germany who's that guy?" Italy asked suddenly, pointing so fast he nearly sent Germany down into the mud.

"Careful, Italy, its slippery." Germany cautioned. He had to turn around completely and walk backwards to see what the loud nation was talking about. There was a man ducking into the woods, so quickly Germany was sure he was trying not to be seen. He turned back around and kept walking.

"Eh... Germany? Who- whoa!"

Germany quickly spun around, feeling Italy's arms tighten around his neck as he struggled to stay on the blonde's back. Italy must have bitten his tongue, because he made a hurt noise and stayed quiet for a second and a half.

The man hadn't tried to duck out of sight this time. And he had many friends with him as well.

Italy opened his mouth after his pause. He'd been quiet for the longest time in his life, it felt like. Long enough for Germany to shout with pain and fall back, crushing him beneath him.

Italy squeaked in surprise at being slammed into the ground beneath his strong friend, thinking that he must have slipped. "Germany~ you're squishing me!" he informed the bigger country with a giggle, pushing on his shoulders and wondering why it was taking so long for the country to get up.

His hand slipped on the wet fabric of Germany's jacket and his palm brushed his chest. Something hot made his fingers sticky and he tensed in surprise, pulling his hand back to his face. Slowly, fearing that what was on his hand was the same thing that had stained it when Austria came back after a bad fight with Prussia all those years ago, he opened his eyes. Such a rare occurrence was usually in happiness, but now the beautiful amber depths of his hidden gaze latched onto his fingers.

They opened in time for the scarlet liquid to drip onto his cheek, noticeable among the many rain droplets for its flaming color and heat.

Blood. Germany was... _bleeding. _

Fear had always given Italy strength – he had it often enough to figure out how to use it to his advantage – so he squirmed out form under Germany's back, finally noticing how fast the breaths were coming from his friend. "Germany! Germany!" he was freaking out, trembling. He sobbed and shivered, pressing his hands over the multiple bullet wounds in Germany's chest in a pathetic attempt to stop the flowing blood. They were only inches from each other. Panic rose again as that precious red liquid welled up between his fingers.

Italy tossed his head back and wailed, then put his forehead to Germany's chest, on top of his hands. "Germany! Don't die! I need you!"

Germany opened his mouth and coughed, blood speckling his paling lips. He tried to sit up and failed, only gaining a faster pump of blood, warming Italy's face as the latter trembled in horror. "Italy – run..." he choked. "Italy..."

Italy shook his head, gaining a horrific red smear across his forehead. Tears splattered all over Germany's jacket, which was slowly darkening with blood. The saltwater mingled with rain, which in turn swirled into ruby rivers running back into the mud. "No! Germany!" he screamed, voice tearing his throat with emotion. Germany reached up a hand and touched his head, running his long fingers through brown-red strands of his soaked hair, and then touched his bloody lips.

"I-ich lie...liebe..." Germany shook his head weakly, not finishing.

Italy froze as Germany's body relaxed. Another wail tore through his throat, following by sobs. Italy despaired - knowing he was too small to carry the muscular man all the way to a hospital. He turned his head right, tears rolling down and aiding the rain in making his russet-brown hair stick all over his round, innocent cheeks that were smearing with his best friend's blood.

Germany was unconscious. Maybe dead. And Italy could do nothing. As always. He was a pathetic, weak boy. He couldn't save Germany... just like he could keep his first love, Holy Roman Empire... both were going to be taken from him.

His blurred vision cleared slightly as thick tears cut paths into the scarlet painting his cheeks.

His eyes found eleven men, pointing guns at him and his fallen friend, laughing and yelling words in a language that was neither Italian nor German. They pushed each other around, as if they'd pulled a funny joke. Italy found his wide, tear-filled, beautiful orange-eyes meeting narrowed, angry black slits.

Italy rose to his feet, letting his arms fall to his sides as they pulled away from Germany's slow-moving chest. Thick red lines rolled off his fingers, dripped into the mud. His head was lowered, bright hair sticking to his face and neck and falling, shadowing his eyes.

"Kto, chert vozʹmi, etot parenʹ? Ubyeĭte yego tozhe." The black-eyed man in the front tossed his arm, waving the others forward.

"Speak English." Italy said. He wasn't in control. He didn't remember standing up. He didn't know where the courage came. Maybe Grandpa Rome was lending him his strength. Maybe Germany was helping him, even as he bled his life into the mud.

The men looked surprised before raising their hands with sick, twisted smiles, cocking their guns. "Ty khocheshʹ umeretʹ, kak vash drug tam, vy anyutiny glazki ?"

Italy's head jerked up, so they could see his eyes. He very, very slowly tilted his head to the right about three inches. One man took a step back in fear.

This was the horrible, frozen smile of a broken man.

Broken. Broken. Broken. Sweet, cheerful, bright-eyed and giggling little Italy had clearly snapped. A shattered heart hid in his small body, ice was running through his veins. Germany's blood was running from his cheeks, coating his neck and through the thin blue fabric of the clothes his best friend had given him. He felt as if he were being taunted. The tears that had spilled from his eyes had ceased the moment the muscles in his legs stretched to allow him to stand.

"I said to speak English." Italy whispered, he took one step forward. He didn't blink, even as the men pointed the barrels of the guns at his chest, at his head.

"You want us speak English?" the leader strolled forward, stopping about six steps away from the shorter, smaller man. "You are Italy."

Italy turned his blank eyes on the man, ignoring the others. There was a stretch of silence in which the other man continued forward, stopping when Italy could smell the alcohol on his breath. His eyes were like obsidian, blacker than nightmare."I talking you, _Italy." _he hissed. Italy met his eyes.

The slap rang across the trees. Three clean streaks blossomed on Italy's bloodstained cheek. The man spat in his face. "I speak to you! You answer! You damn Italian! You pathetic!"

He went to hit Italy again, but a hand came up, catching the wrist. "Heh heh heh heh heh heh heh..." Italy laughed, turning eyes that glittered in an inhuman, insane way. "Ve~ Germany!" he called, nearly singing. "Gerrrrrmany. I'm going to kill this guy. Just for you. Te amo!" he giggled, not at all like he used to. This was terrifyingly dark, brutal, feral.

The man went to drive his fist into Italy's stomach, but Italy took his arm and spun, twisting it back. He leaned forward until he could feel his own breath warming his cheeks, rebounding from the man's ear. "I loved Germany... and you just killed him." he snarled, and jerked up his hand holding the arm.

The cracking sound was audible. The man screamed with pain, but it turned into a gurgle as his face was slammed forward, into the mud. Italy glared down at the man, hate burning in his eyes like a flame. "MY GERMANY!" Italy screamed, pain flaring more painful than if he'd been shot. He lifted his leg and spun, slamming his heel into the back of the man's head. He might not be dead, but he was surely unconscious. The sting in his chest wasn't gone! It needed to go away! Italy snarled like a tiger and bent down. He pulled the gun out of the holster on the man's side. This poor, broken Italy turned, his lips pulled downward into a frown.

The other men yelled and backed up, some faces flashing with fear while others contorted in anger. Two pulled the trigger of their guns and mud near Italy's feet splattered onto his small black combat boots. He stepped to the left, then spread his feet out so his stance was just wider than his shoulders. His small finger looped over the trigger and he pulled, grinning sickly as one of the ten men dropped. Two guns hit the mud and their owners ran, his laugh chasing them. Three more shots fired from the men, missing. The fourth left a tear in Italy's pants, just above his knee, but it didn't slow him. He cut down four more before he ran out of ammo.

He ignored the bullets clattering around him, though he did stop to ponder how these men whose aim was so awful had managed such accuracy against Germany. The thought was accented with pain as on bullet found its mark, just above his ankle. He growled, taking a step back, and found himself stepping on something.

He looked down at what at first he thought was a snake. It wasn't, though its appearance was easily mistaken for one seeing as it was shiny and black, coiled neatly and resting beside the leader's hip. Italy ducked – unintentionally dodging six bullets and being splattered with mud by the seventh. He slid his hand around what he had originally thought was the snake's head.

There was the sound of a sharp _CRACK_! And then another man stepped back with fear, even as his comrades swore and kept shooting. No one dodged _bullets. _The truth was, even the bravest man was shaking, causing the bullets to go wild.

Italy reached them with only another tear in his jacket. CRACK! He snapped his arm forward, watching in pleasure as a man fell with a shout of pain, a red streak across his face.

The others were running, guns dropping in their wake, but they slipped around in the thick mud. Italy snapped the whip twice more on two more men before the others had managed to flee. And he turned, around and around, searching for his next target. The one he had hit across the face was staggering away. He screamed and whipped again, feeling a surge of insane pleasure as the man hit the ground. "MY GERMANY!" he screamed again, snapping the metal-tipped whip across his back. "YOU KILLED HIM!"

"It...aly..." the voice was terrified and weak. Italy froze mid swing, the whip snapping painfully across his forearm and snapping him awake.

He dropped the offender and turned, eyes tearing up again with hope. "G...Germany?" he begged the rain.

A blonde head lifted off the ground. Blue eyes were huge, disbelieving.

Afraid.

Italy burst into tears and ran forward. "Te amo, Germany! I was so scared! I thought you were dead! But you aren't dead! Ve! Yay! But you are hurt~ Waaaaah~" he wailed, crying into Germany's jacket.

"Ita... vhat... vhat..." Germany wanted to pull away. He was... he was _scared _of the Italy he'd just seen.

"Germany..." Italy whimpered, nuzzling Germany's neck. Germany, still in an intense amount of pain – this much pain would have killed a normal human – cautiously lifted a big hand and touched Italy's head, just above the signature curl.

Italy's entire form relaxed. "Te amo. Te amo te amo te amo."

Germany didn't answer. Italy was curled on his lap, shaking faster than a leaf in a thunderstorm and sobbing his eyes out. He needed to be comforted. He needed to be told that Germany was alright. But Germany was not alright. And neither was Italy. Germany was upset, terrified that he'd caused Italy to snap like that, terrified that the little Italian would break again. Italy was afraid his other side would come out again, hurt someone close to him, and never go away.

They were both broken.

Broken.

Broken.


End file.
